


If you lie down with dogs

by Apathy, saltedpin



Category: Gintama
Genre: Chocolate Box Exchange Round 6 treat, Comedy, Established fuckbuddies, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Patching Each Other Up, Wardrobe malfunctions, flimsy pretexts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/pseuds/saltedpin
Summary: This kind of contrived garbage seems to keep happening to him, and he’s sick of it. Why is it always him in particular who gets saddled with the most humiliating plotlines? More to the point, why does it always have to be in the absolute worst possible company?Hijikata has an extremely bad day (or does he?).
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	If you lie down with dogs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyInfierno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyInfierno/gifts).



> Sorry this treat is a little bit late!! We'd planned on getting this posted before the collection went live, but alas, life got in the way :( We hope you'll still enjoy it anyway!
> 
> Thanks for writing such a fun prompt, and happy Valentine's Day :D
> 
> Thank you so much to rabbit_habits for for all their beta help!! All mistakes are ours alone.

There had been a time – probably only a couple of minutes ago, though it feels like much longer – when a stray thought had flitted through the back of Hijikata’s mind:

_Well, at least things can’t get any worse._

Now he’s wishing that he had a time machine for the express purpose of going back in time ten minutes and making his past self commit seppuku before he could think such a stupid, moronic, _idiotic_ piece of obvious jinxbait. Because if there’s one thing that Hijikata has learned through hard, painful experience over the years, it’s that things can always, _always_ get worse.

“Hijikata-kun. Hiiijikata- _kuuuuuuun_.”

Hijikata closes his eyes. What he’s trying not to look at or think about could include so many things: the half-destroyed street, which had been torn to pieces by the giant half-worm, half-fish Amanto that had gone on a rampage after being refused entry to an izakaya on the basis of the owner’s ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’ policy; the large crowd of gawking passers-by, who, despite his best efforts, he can hear whispering and scoffing amongst themselves as he stands here regretting everything; the still-squirming tendrils of Amanto limbs he’d hacked off with his sword before it had squealed in pain and flopped its way into the harbour, squirting acidic bile out of its orifices as it went; the giant puddle of Amanto bile he’s now standing in the middle of. But mostly – 

“Your pants are melting, Hijikata-kun.”

Okay, _that_ gets him to snap his eyes wide open again. Yorozuya is standing there in front of him, just as covered in disgusting, viscous Amanto bullshit as Hijikata himself is, his bokutou slung casually over one shoulder – 

Hijikata blinks. Had Yorozuya’s yukata always been that... snug? Had it looked like that ten minutes ago, when he’d shown up unasked to intervene in the fight Hijikata had been handling perfectly well on his own?

Whatever the case, Yorozuya apparently discerns the line of Hijikata’s gaze, because he nods encouragingly, as if trying to communicate with an especially slow-witted child, and says, “Yes, this is what I’ve been trying to draw your attention to. Far be it from me to harp on the subject, Vice-Commander, what with your obviously extremely firm grip on the situation, but I just wanted to make you aware that Hijikata Junior is about thirty seconds away from making his public debut.”

That... that doesn’t sound promising. But it’s got to be an exaggeration, right? It’s exactly the kind of bullshit that Yorozuya _would_ say just to get a rise out of him, or to give himself an excuse to check out Hijikata’s nether regions in public. It’s not like Hijikata can actually _feel_ the crotch of his pants getting warmer and tighter, right? That’s just the power of suggestion working its terrible dark magic. Surely this is just his imagination deciding to exert itself at the worst possible moment. If he just calmly looks down, all he’ll see is –

All right. Fine. It’s probably not _great_ that there’s a gentle wisp of smoke drifting up from the general region of his crotch. And that burning smell is not the most promising thing he’s ever encountered in his life. But there are rational explanations for all of these things. He’s just got to work out what they are.

Yorozuya is still yammering on, and how does he manage to be so irritating even when he’s just expositing semi-useful information? “– anyway, the point is, its sticky secretions don’t do much harm to human skin, but it’ll leave you naked as the day you were born if it gets on your clothes. Kagura’s baldy father explained it to me once when I asked why the hell he was in my house, in my bedroom, raiding my pants drawer. It’s their defence mechanism, he told me, and now he needed to borrow a pair of my pants. Well, that’s what he _said,_ anyway, and that’s what I just have to keep telling myself, because honestly, would _you_ want to consider the alternative?”

“What the – that doesn’t even make _sense!_ ” Hijikata realises, in some dim and distant part of his mind, that now is absolutely _not_ the time to be standing in the street and arguing with Yorozuya, but apparently he’s more of a creature of habit than he’d thought. 

And what the hell kind of planet did that asshole alien come from, where it needs a defence mechanism against the soft yet reliable touch of cotton?! Unless the idea is that the invading armies, shamed by their nakedness, will just retreat in embarrassment and confusion in an attempt to retain their dignity? Well, the joke’s on the alien fish-worm, in that case – Yorozuya hasn’t got any dignity to begin with. As for Hijikata, though, he’s starting to suspect that he’s in the middle of someone else’s concerted campaign to strip him of whatever last shreds he has remaining to him.

It’s also becoming increasingly clear that he’s rapidly being stripped of everything _else_ that he has remaining to him. He can admit this now. It’s not paranoia if your pants really _are_ evaporating into thin air.

This kind of contrived garbage seems to keep happening to him, and he’s sick of it. Why is it always him in particular who gets saddled with the most humiliating plotlines? More to the point, why does it always have to be in the absolute worst possible company?

He risks a glance upwards, knowing exactly what he’ll see, and – yep. Yorozuya is staring at him with the kind of sadistic leer that makes Hijikata want to throw him off the nearest building with extreme prejudice, and right now, he’s thinking that the resulting jail time might just be worth it.

He needs to get out of here and find somewhere to hide until this all goes away, not pick a fight with the local jackass while his clothes disintegrate. And yet. There’s just something about Yorozuya that makes his ability to prioritise go completely haywire, and he fucking hates it.

Blood boiling in his veins, he strides over to Yorozuya, distantly aware of his too-tight pants squeaking over his ass as he moves. He takes a quick moment to savour the dull surprise in Yorozuya’s eyes as he wraps his hand in a non-melty part of his collar, yanking him in close and trying _really_ hard not to notice just how little of Yorozuya’s shirt is left to actually cover his chest.

“Who even asked you to step in? Why are you even here?” Hijikata snarls at him – but really, why is Yorozuya ever anywhere? 

“Oh, that’s nice! So this is the thanks I get for helping you out of a tight spot, since I know the Shinsengumi are just supposed to roll over and take it whenever the Amanto start kicking off.” The movement Yorozuya makes now is probably intended to be part of some kind of self-righteous huff performance, but all it does is make more of his shirt ooze off, adding to the ever-growing puddle on the ground at his feet. “How are you this dense, Hijikata-kun? Don’t you understand anything I’m trying to do here? How am I going to collect on all the favours you owe me if you’ve been fired from your job and put in naughty policeman jail? Those conjugal trailers are pretty cramped, you know.” 

It really would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it, that somehow this is just a bad dream, and he’s going to wake up _any moment now...?_ But no, all that happens is that Yorozuya just keeps muttering about ungrateful assholes who don’t even put out often enough for any of this to be worth his while. 

Which _might_ have been a little bit easier to take if Yorozuya had done literally _anything_ to actually help. 

“Well, good job, asshole, the Amanto escaped and slithered off into the harbour, so thank you for your assistance,” Hijikata barks into Yorozuya’s face – he _would_ shake him around by the collar a bit, but the collar now appears to be nothing more than warm, sticky goo in Hijikata’s fingers. _Ugh._

“You forgot about the part where it spewed clothes-melting acid everywhere, Hijikata-kun. Which, don’t get me wrong, it’s a good look for you and everything, but –”

Hijikata closes his eyes and does his level best to mentally count to ten. Whatever he has to say or do to Yorozuya, it can wait until he’s sorted out the situation with him being covered in clothes-melting alien bile. Preferably _before_ he ends up naked in the middle of the street. 

“Come on,” he snarls – ideally, he’d grab some part of Yorozuya’s clothing and drag him along after him, but right now this is a riskier proposition than he’d like. He really can’t chance Yorozuya getting any more… _revealed_ than he already is. So instead, he wraps his fingers around Yorozuya’s forearm, and with as much professionalism as he can muster and resolutely ignoring the extremely uncomfortable way whatever’s left of his pants is hugging his general, uh, _area,_ he marches off down the street, dragging Yorozuya behind him. Before he can do literally anything else, they _have_ to get somewhere where the general population of Edo is no longer in a position to continue hooting, cat-calling, throwing business cards at him and asking what time his shift at the club starts. 

There is, at least, always an old warehouse with a rusty-hinged door around when he needs one – Hijikata’s never questioned it in the past and he’s certainly not about to start questioning it now. The door _does_ take a little more kicking than he would have liked to bring down, though – which is not ideal in the current circumstances, but at least they’re off the street and inside the relative privacy of a structure with four solid walls now, thank _fuck._

He takes a moment to catch his breath, reflect on the situation, and notice just how warm his balls are getting.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Hijikata sighs. He knows that he’s going to have to inspect the damage. He knows that Yorozuya is going to make it as horrible as humanly possible. He _knows_ that he should get it over and done with ASAP and at least maintain a semblance of control over the situation, instead of dragging the whole sorry affair out to its inevitable end and letting the Amanto goo make the decision for him.

But it’s just so goddamn _hard_. As long as he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’s not really happening, right? And Yorozuya said that this stuff doesn’t damage skin, right...?

_Shit._

Hijikata checks himself over frantically before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. What the fuck would Yorozuya know?! Yorozuya would happily let him melt his own dick off! He wouldn’t even need a reason!

His shoulders relax in relief as he realises that his junk is still intact. The same, unfortunately, can very much not be said for his pants – the phrase ‘hanging on by a thread’ springs to mind. He’s seen sturdier g-strings on strippers... only during official police busts, of course.

A heavy hand claps onto his shoulder from behind, and Hijikata finds his own hands racing to cover his shame before he can even stop to think about it.

“Well, well,” an obnoxious voice murmurs into his ear. “What have we here, hmm? Is the Shinsengumi’s best and brightest indulging in a little indecent exposure? For shame.”

That voice absolutely should not do things to him. It’s _not_ doing things to him, dammit.

“You... you’re no better,” he manages to get out, and there. That’s a perfectly reasonable response.

“Oh, really?” Hijikata can hear the shit-eating grin, feel Yorozuya’s other hand travelling down his barely clothed side, and it occurs to him that his eyes closed at some point during all of this.

“My pants are fine,” Yorozuya replies breezily. “But yours, Mr Vice-Chief, are definitely not.” To emphasise his point, he grabs Hijikata’s ass – as in, Hijikata’s _ass_. Directly.

Hijikata may or may not yelp at the contact; he _does_ break away from Yorozuya and scuttle into the nearest corner, one hand on the front and the other on the rear, trying to work out how best to cover as much as possible and also perhaps how to spontaneously combust.

It’s not worth it. None of this is worth it. _Sorry, Kondou-san, but Edo’s going to have to do without me from now on. Existence has become impossible._

“Your modesty is adorable, Hijikata-kun.” Yorozuya’s smirk is a flash of white in the dim light of the warehouse. “As if you have anything I haven’t already seen, up close and in great detail. Come on, get it off already. I can’t believe that could possibly be comfortable.”

“Shut up. Like I give a damn what you think.” Hijikata glances up into the corners of the ceiling. “I just wanted to get somewhere dark before I took anything off, in case the owner of the warehouse has security cameras. Unlike _some_ people, I’m not an exhibitionist.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can take care of any security footage that exists through your filthy, corrupted police backchannels.” Oh God, Hijikata _knows_ that smile. It’s the smile Yorozuya does when he thinks he’s about to say something clever. “Though to be honest, I’d kind of hoped we’ve been a thing long enough by now that I was the only one making use of your filthy, corrupted police backch—”

“If you want to keep your head, you won’t even _think_ about finishing that sentence.” 

Hijikata closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. God, why him? Kondou would probably jump at the chance to have his clothes melted off in the middle of the street, but no, Kondou’s back at the barracks, diligently and systematically screwing up the quarterly budget by trying to claim the five hundred two-litre tubs of Bargain-Dash he bought for the Shimura girl as a work expense.

 _Still._ Hijikata realises the shitstorm he’s practically inviting into his house by thinking this, but – it could be worse. Despite the fact he’d made the point the most obnoxious possible way, Yorozuya’s right about one thing – there probably _are_ worse people to find himself semi-naked in a warehouse with. Obviously, Hijikata would rather not be. But as long as he _is_....

“Hey.” Yorozuya pokes him in the butt. Well, not technically the _butt_ , but close enough. Upper thigh. Whatever. “When you’re finished there, what do you want to do – ” poke “ – about this?”

And okay, what little bit of calm had settled upon him has now dissipated like smoke on the breeze. “Yes. I’m aware that my ass is hanging out. Thanks, Yorozuya. That’s really helpful.”

“No, I meant – what do you want to do about _this_?”

Yorozuya pokes him once more and raises his finger so that it’s in front of Hijikata’s face. There’s enough light coming in through the grubby window that Hijikata can see –

“Is that blood?”

“Congratulations! Well done.” Yorozuya rolls his eyes, though not with _quite_ as much contempt as he might usually manage. “Yes, it’s blood. Those things have some pretty wicked claws. You know, in addition to clothes-melting vom.”

“Huh.” Hijikata looks down, doing his best to ignore just how exposed he is at this point, and – yeah, there’s a giant gash running around the outside of his thigh. He’s used to not noticing the pain of injuries in the heat of battle, but this is pretty oblivious, even for him.

“Yeah, their bile has an anaesthetic effect,” Yorozuya says. He reaches up and runs the tip of his finger along the edge of his own clavicle, scooping up some of the goo from amongst the remains of his shirt before licking it off. It’s simultaneously kind of hot and absolutely revolting. “See?”

“I wish I couldn’t.”

“It’th already tharting to kick in! Oh yeah, thith ith the good thit. Theriouthly, Hijikata, you thould try thith.”

“For the love of –” Hijikata pinches the bridge of his nose. How has he fucked this absolute moron? How is it that he’ll almost certainly fuck him again? What does this say about him?!

“Wow. I could totally thuck mythelf off like thith, and it would be like getting a blowjob from thomeone elthe.” Yorozuya’s eyes narrow. “Thince _thomeone_ alwayth hath to be thweet-talked into it for, like, half an hour, by which time I’m ath thoft ath a marthmallow.”

Hijikata’s pretty sure that _he’s_ never going to get hard ever again, at this rate. It’s almost a relief when the pain in his leg kicks in suddenly and insistently, spreading in pulsating waves that make him gasp in surprise – because if it turned out that the anaesthetic effect of the goo was permanent, he’d be avoiding Yorozuya for the rest of his days. Mostly because he never wants to hear the words ‘thuck mythelf off’ ever again, but also partially because, if he’s being honest, Yorozuya _does_ give annoyingly good head, and the thought of his tongue being permanently paralysed depresses Hijikata in ways that he doesn’t really want to think about.

“Here.” Yorozuya’s arm is around him before he can blink, easing him down to the grimy warehouse floor, leaning his back against the wall. “Let’th get thothe panth off you.”

“How about you keep your mouth shut until you can talk properly again. Or just, like, forever,” Hijikata mutters. But he _does_ appreciate it, the efficient but gentle way that Yorozuya peels the sad remnants of his pants from his legs. And the way that he keeps his goddamn mouth shut.

For a while, anyway.

“Heh. Freeballing, huh? Wouldn’t have ethpected that of you.”

“Sougo threw all my underpants into the river and set fire to them. He said he was giving them a Viking funeral,” Hijikata mutters, letting his eyes drift shut. His leg really does hurt like hell now that the alien goo has worn off. He lets himself sit like that for a while, Yorozuya gently shifting him around to get the last of his pants and boots off. It’s... nice. If he doesn’t think too hard about the fact that he is now entirely denuded of protection on his lower half.

He’s jolted back to full awareness by a loud ripping sound, and opens his eyes to see Yorozuya tearing strips from the intact part of his yukata. Which is really all he had left to cover up literally any part of his upper half.

“What the hell are you doing?” he blurts out as Gintoki just keeps tearing it to pieces, as if they have any clothes to spare between them right now.

Yorozuya gives him an impatient look. “Got a firtht aid kit thecreted anywhere on your perthon? Becauthe I thure don’t.” 

Hijikata swallows, blinking in the half-light and resisting the urge to edge slightly away. He has never really been sure what exactly to call what’s been going on between him and Yorozuya for the past... jeez, has it really been six months? Seven, he guesses, if he counts that _thing_ that happened when they were both too drunk to walk and ended up sleeping all tangled up in an alleyway together. Well, he _thinks_ it was only sleeping, and Yorozuya had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it all, so he’s just had to get used to not being sure. But until now, it hasn’t really included letting Yorozuya patch him up in a darkened warehouse after his pants have gone MIA and Yorozuya’s shirt is on the verge of doing the same.

As much as he hates to admit it, Yorozuya’s first aid skills are... pretty good, all things considered. He manages to get Hijikata’s leg propped up without jostling it, and he remembers to clean off the area surrounding the wound with a scrap of yukata before the goo melts it away, and he doesn’t even make any rude comments while he’s doing it. When he thinks about it, though, Hijikata can’t say he’s surprised – anyone who’d survived the Amanto Wars for as long as Yorozuya apparently did would need to be able to look after themselves – but the solicitousness of it all _does_ take him aback. It’s nothing like what Hijikata’s used to in terms of field bandaging. Yorozuya’s hands are firm, gentle, applying just the right amount of pressure when he needs to, one thumb lingering on the top of his thigh as his other hand winds the makeshift bandage around it, fingers grazing gently over his skin. There’s a look of almost comically intense concentration on Yorozuya’s face when Hijikata glances at him – it’s about a million miles from the dead-eyed stare he’s used to. It makes something squirm uncomfortably in the pit of Hijikata’s gut, as if he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to see, and he swallows heavily and looks away. 

But still, he’s almost disappointed when Yorozuya leans back a little to appraise his work, nodding with apparent satisfaction.

“All good. Might want to keep your weight off it for a bit, though.”

Well, Hijikata wasn’t really planning on going anywhere right this second, so that sounds fine with him. What _isn’t_ fine with him, however, is the dark trickle of blood that he can see wending its slow way down Yorozuya’s side. He hadn’t noticed it before, what with the few remaining scraps of clothes and the arguing and everything else, but now it’s obvious: Hijikata wasn’t the only one who got wounded today before that fish had apparently decided to beat its sticky retreat. 

“Oi. Yorozuya.”

Yorozuya blinks. “Mm?”

Hijikata beckons to him. “Turn around. Let me see your back.”

“Ah, Hijikata-kun can’t wait, eh?” Yorozuya does an infuriating kind of butt wiggle, but he _does_ turn around, and... yeah, that’s not good. “At least wait until I’ve cleaned the goo off.” 

It’s amazing, how quickly Yorozuya can evict any fond feelings that may have been trying to set up house in Hijikata’s... not _heart,_ but, well, wherever. “Shut up. Get your stupid ass over here so I can bandage it.”

“Huh?” Yorozuya tries to peer over his shoulder to inspect the damage, and Hijikata is reminded of nothing so much as a cat trying to gnaw on its own tail. “Oh. Right. I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

There are so many things Hijikata would like to say to that – _Fine, be like that, die then; See if I care if your gaping back wound gets infected; You used up all the yukata so you’re shit out of luck anyway_ – but, with a great deal of effort and difficulty, he swallows them all down. There’s no way he can let Gintoki one-up him in the being surprisingly solicitous stakes. Like hell he’s going to let that happen!

“Get over here, idiot. I can’t carry you with my leg like this, and I don’t want to explain to Yamazaki why we’re both half-dressed. If you pass out, I’m stealing your pants and leaving you here to rot.”

“Honestly, Hijikata-kun, it’s not that big of a deal.” Gintoki shrugs a little. “ _Someone_ hogged all the bandages anyway, so there’s nothing to be done.”

“Get over here. _Now._ ”

Yorozuya saunters back over with a bemused smile, as if Hijikata is some kind of overly fussy wife who has to be humoured. Hijikata grabs his arm and yanks him back down to the ground, smiling grimly at the _ow!_ that results.

“Show me your goddamn back, Yorozuya. No mucking around.”

Yorozuya actually pouts at that but does as ordered, and Hijikata hisses in a breath at the sight.

It’s somehow both better and worse than he originally thought – it’s a deep wound, but it’s not really bleeding all that much. In fact, for a fresh wound, its barely bleeding at all – 

Hijikata pauses, frowning. 

He grabs Gintoki’s shoulder and pulls him into the thin shaft of light that’s filtering down through one of the filth-encrusted windows overhead. 

Even in this sparse light, he can see that Yorozuya’s back is a mess. It’s hard to tell under the blood, but there’s no way that slice was made by anything other than a blade, and it’s definitely not fresh.

A strange feeling curdles in his stomach. If he were feeling more willing to be honest with himself, he might call it fear or unease. Something, in any case, which compels him to voice his concerns in the gentlest way possible.

“Asshole.” He slaps Gintoki across the back of the head. “What the fuck is this?”

“ _Ow._ What the fuck is what? You’re going to have to get a lot more specific, idiot, since I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

Hijikata resists the urge to grind his teeth. “You didn’t get this today! This is old! Why the hell were you jumping into a fight if you were already injured? Are you that fucking stupid? Did you even get this treated properly at the time?” He stops and forces himself to take a breath. “What the hell, Yorozuya.” 

He’s staring pretty intently at Yorozuya’s stupid fucking back with its stupid fucking re-opened wound, but he still sees it out of the corner of his eye when Gintoki glances quickly over his shoulder at him before he spits out, “Who the hell are you? My mother?” – though Hijikata can’t help but notice it’s just a _tiny_ bit more subdued than Yorozuya would usually manage. 

“Shut up.” The feeling in the pit of Hijikata’s stomach is getting worse, and so he distracts himself by trying to work out how the hell he’s going to bandage all of this. He supposes that his shirt will do if he absolutely has to, and he doesn’t understand why he’s baulking so much at the thought. Many a Shinsengumi uniform shirt has been sacrificed over the years without a second thought, and he’s already completely naked from the waist down, but for some reason the thought of wandering out of here _completely_ completely naked isn’t doing a whole lot for him. After all, Yorozuya _probably_ won’t die if he doesn’t bandage absolutely everything. Right?

... Okay, so he’ll use the shirt, but he’ll take the sleeves first, then the tails if he has to. He’ll take the collar and its adjacent parts if absolutely necessary. As long as he can walk out of here with his nipples covered and his head held high, he’ll hold onto his dignity.

“You want me to start doing that myself, Hijikata-kun? If it’ll get this over and done with quicker.”

“Shut up! And fuck you! I’ll do it.”

He gets to work popping stitches and tearing cloth, selecting the cleanest bits for dressing the wounds. Gintoki flinches ever so slightly as Hijikata’s fingers brush his skin, and yeah, looks like the goo’s anaesthetic effect is starting to wear off for him as well. When he laughs, it’s strained.

“You know that I’m fine, right? But you should really call Jimmy-kun. That leg wound was pretty nasty. If you pass out from blood loss, I won’t be able to call him.”

“Idiot.” Hijikata passes a strip of material around Gintoki’s ribs, and it’s possible that his fingers tremble just a tiny bit. Obviously, it’s from the stress of the injury. “Don’t you have his number?”

“Why the hell would I? If I want to be bored to death, I can just talk to Shinpachi for free.” 

_Huh._ For some reason he’d just always assumed that Gintoki had everyone’s number. He’s certainly good enough at popping up wherever he’s least wanted. “You could use my phone.”

“I don’t know your PIN. And even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to use whatever number combination corresponds to M-A-Y-O.”

Hijikata opens his mouth, closes it, and settles for saying _hn_. “Anyway,” he says a moment later, rolling the torn-up sleeve of his uniform across the worst section of Gintoki’s back. “You need to get some proper medical attention, dumbass.”

Yorozuya shrugs one shoulder indifferently, keeping his gaze fixed forward. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go back with you to Tax Thief Central and let your guys dab on some Bettol, if that’ll make you happy.”

It would not in fact make Hijikata happy at all to have Gintoki back at the Shinsengumi compound in any way, shape or form – he already occupies _far_ too much of Hijikata’s mental landscape for reasons Hijikata is absolutely not interested in examining without him cluttering up his physical landscape as well. Though when he thinks about it, he’s not too sure why the hell it matters so much – Gintoki already spends way too much time sticking his nose into Shinsengumi business, so it’s not like spending an hour or two getting his back seen to will make much difference at this point. 

“Right,” he says, as he passes the thin strip of what had once been his shirt sleeve over Gintoki’s shoulder and notices the way his skin rises into goosebumps as his fingers shift over it. “And while we’re there, maybe you can answer a couple of questions about how you came to have a sword wound in your back. You know. Since no one’s supposed to be carrying those around anymore.”

“Oh, so it’s going to be like that is it, officer? A good old-fashioned interrogation? With handcuffs and everything?” 

Gintoki’s _looking_ at him again from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised – and shit, Hijikata _knows_ that look. He should do by now, since he’s had it directed at him often enough over the past six months, usually in a bar from over the top of a half-finished glass of sake, or when they bump into each other as Yorozuya’s ambling his way home from whatever debauched evening he’s had, or even sometimes when they happen to cross paths on the street in broad daylight. It’s the look that tells him it’s going to be one of _those_ nights, and Hijikata would absolutely love to be able to say that there’s been at least one time he’s pretended not to understand what he’s looking at and taken himself off home instead, but... no, that’s pretty much never happened. Even now, when he knows full well half the reason Yorozuya’s doing it is to get out of answering his questions about how he came by his sword wound.

“I cannot,” he says, as he ties off the shirtsleeve bandage and Gintoki begins to turn around to face him, “think of anything less appropriate right now.”

“Oh, come on, Hijikata-kun. How often do you end up half-naked in a darkened warehouse with the object of your affections? Usually it takes me _way_ more effort than this to get your pants off. I didn’t even have anything to do with this – they just came off by themselves this time, and who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

“Will you shut up?” Hijikata slaps at Gintoki’s hand where it’s creeping its way across his unbandaged thigh. “This isn’t the time or the place. Do you even understand the meaning of the words ‘trespassing on private property’?”

“Right, because I was the one who kicked the door down in the first place,” Yorozuya says. “If you’re going to arrest anyone about that, it’s going to have to be yourself.” 

“I wouldn’t have _had_ to if you hadn’t barged your way in and made everything worse,” Hijikata snaps. “I had everything completely under control.”

“Uh huh. Sure you did.” Gintoki nods. “Getting pinned against a wall by some wormy fish’s wriggling little tentacles – that’s definitely a situation I’d characterise as being ‘under control’. Good job, Vice-Chief, you really had him on the ropes there.”

“Shut up.” Hijikata looks away, and hopes like hell Yorozuya can’t see the colour rising in his cheeks in the dim light of the warehouse. _It would have been fine,_ is what he wants to say. _Backup would have shown up sooner or later. There was absolutely no reason for you to jump in and re-open your massive fucking back wound, like the total shit-for-brains idiot you are._

He swallows uncomfortably. 

It’s kind of embarrassing how uneven the scales are in that regard – Yorozuya just seems to get into everything, usually without it seeming that he’s even trying to. He’d been there for Mitsuba, after all, and the (multiple) Tosshi debacles, and plenty of other things Hijikata would really prefer not to think too hard about. But Hijikata can count the times Gintoki’s actually _asked_ him for something – well, something that’s fit to be mentioned in polite company, or _any_ company – on exactly one finger, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t keep him up at night sometimes. Yorozuya can _talk,_ but it’s startling and maybe a little unnerving to realise just how little he ever _says,_ even when it’s something as minor as dodging the question when Hijikata asks him, perfectly reasonably, how the fuck his back got sliced open like that. 

It’s just a matter of evening the score, is what Hijikata would like to be able to tell himself. He doesn’t like being in people’s debt, and _especially_ not Yorozuya’s debt. But just occasionally, usually when he’s on the verge of sleep, he’s found himself thinking, _What’s the point in doing any of this, if he’s not even going to let me –_

Gintoki’s hand creeps across his leg again, the edge of his thumb running lightly along the inside of his thigh, and Hijikata tries and fails to suppress a shiver.

And – okay. He knows that Yorozuya is just like that. He holds his cards close to his chest. And to be honest, Hijikata’s fairly certain he wouldn’t know what to do if Yorozuya did ever lay his hand out plainly anyway – if, one day, Yorozuya turned to him with those weird dead fish eyes and said, _So, this thing we’ve been doing...._ In the cold light of day, the thought leaves Hijikata feeling vaguely nauseated. And like hell he’d ever tell Yorozuya about any of these things anyway – any of those half-asleep ruminations, or the way he feels indebted to him, and _definitely_ not the way that _occasionally,_ on some of the very few times Gintoki’s actually smiled at him – as in a genuine smile, not the smarmy leer he usually does – he’s felt a weird clench in his chest that he shouldn’t be able to identify in any way, shape or form as – 

Hijikata swallows again as Gintoki’s hand creeps northwards again, and he closes his eyes. It’s stupid, after all, to ask questions he neither wants nor needs to hear the answer to, isn’t it?

“All right, fine,” he finally says, once he can trust himself to speak without his voice shaking, as Yorozuya’s thumb draws a circling path over his hipbone. “But don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Yorozuya smirks, and Hijikata really kind of hates the way it makes his pulse quicken. “My lips are sealed.”

Hijikata holds back his first response, which is some kind of witty remark about the impossibility of keeping Yorozuya’s mouth closed, and – wait a moment, can Yorozuya actually talk normally again? Has this been going on for a while? He hadn’t really been paying attention. But he’s pretty sure he would’ve gone hysterically deaf by now if Yorozuya had still been talking like that.

His eyes narrow. “So, your tongue’s recovered from the incredibly stupid and disgusting thing you did, has it?”

Yorozuya waggles his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He _would,_ unfortunately, but there’s no way in hell he’ll ever say it. Instead, he simply reaches forward and slides his hand around the back of Gintoki’s head, tightening his fingers a little more than is absolutely necessary in his stupid hair and yanking him forward. Their mouths meet with just the right amount of violence, and Hijikata groans into the kiss, fingers pressing into the damp hair at the nape of Gintoki’s neck, as Gintoki’s hand on his shoulder shoves him back against the warehouse wall. The anticipatory prickling of his skin and the sudden heated rush of his blood are things he’s _really_ getting to be way too damned familiar with. 

Hijikata’s fingers fiddle frantically with Yorozuya’s pants, and it seems incredibly unfair that that bastard’s pants are still intact, and so it’s with a bit of extra spite that Hijikata tries to shove them down Yorozuya’s hips. Yorozuya, for his part, is apparently only too eager to help out, trying to shuck the pants off while staying lip-locked with Hijikata. He manages to free one leg with some degree of struggle – hazily, Hijikata thinks that it probably would’ve gone better for him if he’d taken his boots off first – and then he shifts his weight so that he can get to the other leg, knocking against Hijikata in the process. Which wouldn’t be an issue, except that he’s bumped against Hijikata’s injured leg, and oh _shit_ does that fucking _hurt_.

“Fuck! Shit! Hang on – wait a sec, asshole!” Hijikata tries to re-arrange himself, but _fuck_ this is painful.

“Huh?”

Yorozuya is not at his most eloquent nor his most majestic, balanced as he is on one booted foot while trying to pull his pants off the other leg. Hijikata has one strangely serene moment in which to note that it looks like he wasn’t the only one freeballing today, before Yorozuya topples gracelessly backwards in what feels like slow motion and lands with a thud on his back, tearing his pants neatly in two as he does so.

Hijikata winces a little in sympathy as Yorozuya screams and then rolls onto his side and curls into a foetal position, making pained, insensible noises. 

All right. Fine. Hijikata can admit that perhaps trying to get it on in the middle of a dusty old warehouse while they’re both wounded, bound in makeshift bandages and covered in shitty alien goo is not the best idea he’s ever had... though he wishes someone would tell his dick that, since it’s still _embarrassingly_ hard just from the minimal amount of kissing and groping they’d managed to get in. _Fuck._ Well, he’s just going to have to ignore it. 

Staggering to his feet, Hijikata manages to make his wobbling way over to Yorozuya’s limply writhing form and sits down next to him. He rests a hand as gently as he can manage on Yorozuya’s heaving side. “You want me to call Yamazaki?”

Yorozuya _probably_ nods – it’s a little hard to tell between all the whimpering – and Hijikata fishes his phone out of his vest pocket, which has remained remarkably intact throughout this entire idiotic ordeal. He’s almost expecting a stream of alien goo to dribble out of the phone when he flips it open, but no, miraculously it seems fine. He jabs in the PIN – which he is _really_ going to have to change from 6296 – finds Yamazaki’s number, and waits.

“Vice-Chief!” It’s always hard to tell whether Yamazaki is actually flustered by something, or just existing in his default state of mild panic. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Where are you?”

“Never mind where am I – where are _you?!_ Why did I have to rely on that idiot Yorozuya for backup, when I’m supposed to have an entire goddamn police force at my disposal?”

Yorozuya moans his agreement.

“Ah, sorry! The Chief got stuck in a manhole after trying to, er, access a particular residence via the sewers. We had to call in the fire brigade to assist, and they called in some heavy machinery, and then –”

“No, that’s fine, I understand,” Hijikata mutters, massaging his forehead. He _really_ does not need to hear any more about that. 

“What’s your location, Vice-Chief?”

Hijikata gives the location of where they fought the Amanto, and a description of the building they’d ducked into. Ugh, it’s probably going to take a while for Yamazaki to find them. In the meantime –

“Oh, I know that building – it’s the warehouse for the Hinikuna Menswear and Medical Supplies Company.”

Hijikata can feel his brain whirring as he tries to compute. “Hinikuna Menswear –”

“Their pants are so comfortable, Vice-Chief! So roomy! You should buy some next time you’re out shopping. And their bandages –”

“Uh-huh.” Hijikata staggers over to the nearest crate, prises the top off, and... fuck his life. They could have just opened any one of these crates, put some of these pants on and walked out of here at any time. He levers off another crate lid, and – yep, full of clean white bandages and iodine. _Of course_. He hangs up on Yamazaki’s continuing sales pitch for the fucking Hinikuna fucking Menswear and Medical Supplies Company, grabs a couple of pairs of pants and a shirt out of the crate, and makes his slow way back to Gintoki’s side.

“Hey. Yorozuya.” He throws the pants down onto Yorozuya’s prone form. “Put these on.”

Yorozuya opens one eye weakly and glances down at the pants. “Never thought I’d see the day when you told me to put some pants _on,_ Hijikata-kun. First time for everything.”

Hijikata just decides he’s going to ignore that. At least Yamazaki’s right about the Hinikuna Menswear and Medical Supplies Company pants – they really _are_ comfortable.

Yorozuya seems to think so too, if the way he’s wiggling around in them is anything to go by, the feel of quality fabric against his skin having apparently perked him up. “These are some pretty nice pants,” he says after a moment. “Hey, Hijikata – can I keep these?”

“Whatever,” Hijikata mumbles, but honestly, he really doesn’t care. Why the hell not? Yorozuya can have the whole damn warehouse. Hijikata will just find a way of confiscating it as evidence, and Yorozuya can have all the damn pants he wants. 

“You know, you _really_ didn’t need to get dragged into all of this today,” he mutters, opening another crate as Gintoki slowly gets to his feet. “Or are you really just _that_ addicted to sticking your nose into everyone else’s business?”

“Heh. Well. You know what they say,” Gintoki says, though Hijikata notices he won’t meet his eyes. “If you lie down with dogs, and all that.”

Ordinarily, Hijikata would kick him for saying something like that – but he’s not feeling it today, for whatever reason. He just keeps rifling around in the crates until he finds a shirt he likes – walking around Edo Harbour shirtless is one thing, but doing it wearing paisley is quite another – while Gintoki struts around, checking out the fit of his pants and wolf-whistling himself.

Hijikata _finally_ manages to find a plain white shirt in amongst all the bullshit, and he’s halfway through stripping off his own completely destroyed shirt when Gintoki sidles up to him.

“Hey, Hijikata-kun. Looks like we have everything we need right here, and this ambience is stunning.” Gintoki gestures at the endless sea of clothes and medical supplies that surrounds them. “I think I feel a bit of a second wind coming on. Whaddya say we break out the emergency blankets and a thermometer, and Doctor Gin-san takes your temperature? You’re looking a little... _hot_.”

Hijikata slaps Yorozuya’s hand away from his forehead. “You’ll be looking a little dead if you keep that shit up.” He pauses. Hijikata _knows_ this is an absolutely terrible idea. And yet... is it so wrong to want to get at least _something_ out of this stupid fucking day? “Still, I think at the very least you need to get that wound cleaned as soon as possible. Who knows how long it’ll take before the Shinsengumi medical team will be able to see to it?”

“Good point, good point. And _you_ should really be keeping your weight off that leg. No choice but to lie down.” Gintoki pauses and – oh _God,_ there’s that smirk again. “Doctor’s orders.” 

And really, who is Hijikata to argue with that?


End file.
